Nightmarish Skies
by Cross-Flame
Summary: -"those dotted glitters in the sky are only guides. Perhaps your handbook, in your opinion. But the one who makes your future is you. I'd like to assist you in that future."- [Gothitelle, Darkrai] PokePark 2 spoilers present. Inspired by Fujisaki Chihiro.


_Note: Fujisaki Chihiro (aka Cheese Nachos Supreme) is...too awesome. Her writing style and, maybe, the immortal love for PokePark 2 made me write this. Thank you — again! Once again, an inspiration comes to me! Trés bien to her!_

_Also, this pairing's a little rusty, few months came around since I last wrote about these 2. Yeah. I also found out this was a shipping, but not influenced. Waah! )':_

**Pokemon = not under Yvonne-chan's wing**

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><p>Wish Park has no stars.<p>

She looks shrewdly at the skies, which is all but an empty abyss. Maybe you could find charred stones floating, or fortresses of grandeur hovering and moving forwards slowly, like a ship advancing slowly on the calm waters. Maybe you could find portions of the sky that are darker than the usual blue, as if a drill from a parallel universe tries to eat it up. Perhaps you could see all that. But without the glitters in the sky, she believes that it proves her purpose here is worthless.

Gothitelle sighs, absorbing herself in the otherworldly phenomenon this blank yet childish universe, now noticing the complete absence of even the moon. She realizes that there is no such thing as "broad daylight" in Wish Park either, just a lonely pitch black or a long endless stretch of indigo. Her elbows dig unto her lap a little too comfortably, as her legs feel a searing pain from it. She frowns, blue eyes uhchanging of their soft, confused yet kind expression. "The constellations have spoken to me..." she mutters, blinking her eyes for a long period of time. "They speak of...of-of...prophecies...that..." She wipes her eyes in a boyish manner: roughly rubbing them. "...I do not belong here. It's safe to say...that.."

_"...they...the-they are right."_

The hurtful fact that she has none of what that little mouse claims to own ("Pikachu," she remembers, weak smile bracing her lips upon such.):

Friends.

She has none of them. The "other creative individual", the "other halves", the personal "walking diaries", or perhaps even something as mushy as "_soul mates"_. She guesses that she'll never have the "warm and fuzzy feeling" most others emote. She never feels that way to her two younger apprentices; even they have those naive and childish strangers they bring along with them, like a new trend to show off. She enjoys the joy they find from that, but she wants the joy they experience to be felt firsthand.

The sparkles and glitters of countless stars told her of this before, that only chaos and misfortune will come to her. Alas, she found her excitement to get the better of her, her usual faithfulness for these astronomic gods were replaced with the hasty and immediate journey to what once was a pitch-black abyss. She would've declined — probably curse at the fantasy of an idea, even — but maybe _he_ was convincing.

_"He"_ — her master.

The one who pulled her into an almost-certain death. Who put her in danger, along with her two keen followers, the one who claim themselves as Gothita and Gothorita. Both could've killed themselves, if only she had known the little miscalculation in

Nonetheless, it happened. The transition from a mind-controlling alternate universe to an all-fun free-for-all dreamy place. In turn, _he_ sacrificed himself in between this brand new change, with nothing to do but roam around voids of emptiness, but she was sure _he_ was used to it. After all, _he_ knew — and yet, knows — the loneliness. Dark gazes and quiet, unspoken thoughts — it all adds up — he had no one.

And, only now, does she realize: they had something.

For those few times it happened, she was unaware. Oblivious. When their were those moments of knotted stomachs, sorrowful eyes, and the instinct of avoiding eye contact. She wants to smack herself now, but too torn in between depression and confusion to do it.

Now, she felt hungry. Hurt-hungry.

Perhaps it's just that she hasn't had a sliver of a meal. A crumb of bread. A thin slice of ham. A sip of berry juice, maybe. It's the same pain everyday, so it must be the lack of food. "It's merely the 'pain of the physical plane.'"

She denies anything too far fetched, despite how much it possibly, could be, somewhat, actually, truly true.

She stands up, hesitance completely wiped off like low-lying dust.

_"Those dotted glitters in the sky are only guides. Perhaps your handbook, in your opinion. But the one who makes your future is you. I'd like to assist you in that future."_

The tears don't leave her however. She turns her back, protecting the emotional truth as she waves her arm swiftly. All she sees is a pink light flash before her, before fleeing from plain sight.

But, even then, she could feel him. She could feel him behind her, feel his light being overwhelmed by darkness once again.

And it was — it _is_ — her fault.


End file.
